


Where We Are Now

by girlunafraid23



Series: Our Theme Song [14]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:18:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlunafraid23/pseuds/girlunafraid23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a regular Tuesday night when neither Ian or Mickey had to work. Mickey liked the nights they could have dinner together the best, although he would never tell Ian that because he was sure Ian would taunt him endlessly if he did. But he liked the way things were between them now. Their apartment wasn't huge and it definitely wasn't the cleanest but it was far away from their shitty houses back in Chicago and New York with Ian was something Mickey didn't need time getting used to."</p>
<p>A regular night between Ian and Mickey turns angsty when Ian delivers some news about a friend he met while deployed overseas. It ends in some fluff though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Are Now

**Author's Note:**

> Stay by Artist VS Poet
> 
> (Sorry for the hiatus)

It was a regular Tuesday night when neither Ian or Mickey had to work. Mickey liked the nights they could have dinner together the best, although he would never tell Ian that because he was sure Ian would taunt him endlessly if he did. But he liked the way things were between them now. Their apartment wasn't huge and it definitely wasn't the cleanest but it was far away from their shitty houses back in Chicago and New York with Ian was something Mickey didn't need time getting used to.

The two of them took turns making dinner every chance they got to eat together. On the nights that they didn't, whoever was home first made dinner and wrapped a plate up for the other. Mickey dreaded the nights he had to cook, only because Ian made better food. He was sure Ian lied about liking what he got when it was Mickey's turn but he couldn't prove it.

This was one of the lucky nights where all Mickey had to do was admire Ian's ass when he bent over to get whatever he was making from the oven and listen to him babble about his day. He liked to pretend he wasn't listening but how could he not? 

"I told this asshole to get the fuck out of the bar like an hour before and he's still there, going off on a Frank-Rant and I was about two seconds from bashing his head in, ya know? Some days I have no idea why I work in a bar. I see people like Frank every single day and I moved away for a reason," Ian had an inner war going on about finding another job, but he never did. Mickey knew that a part of him liked the regularity of it. Drunken assholes were annoying, no doubt, but they're a piece of what made New York feel like home.

Mickey snorted a bit, "Gallagher, how many times do I have to tell ya? Either quit the fuckin' place or quit bitching." Ian looked up from where he was stirring something just to glare, but Mickey could see the smirk he was trying to keep off his face. Seventeen years later and Ian Gallagher still had a way of making Mickey feel like a blushing fourteen year old girl. He hated it as much as he liked it.

Ian rolled his eyes at Mickey before saying, "Well fine, you obviously know how my day was, how 'bout yours? How's Benny, still got a stick up his ass?" 

"Benny always has a stick up his ass, that's nothing new. But we were working today and some fucking crackhead stumbles into the work zone, high off his ass and starts swinging around a hammer and ranting about immigrants, pointing at Nico. I thought Benny was going to explode right there. He was about two seconds away from taking the hammer and beating his head in." Mickey left out the part where he walked over and slammed his fist into the stranger's face. Old habits die hard, and all.

Mickey could see Ian curl his lip at the thought. "Nico's a nice kid, too. What is he, nineteen? Let me guess, you took things into your own hands? Nico's a soft spot for you," Ian said, teasing as much as he was serious. It was common knowledge that Mickey took Nico under his wing when the kid started, though to people who don't know Mickey, they wouldn't realize he was being nice.

"Fuck off Firecrotch. I would've punched him anyways. The guy had it coming. Who the hell comes into a workzone and starts talking shit about the workers? Dumbasses, that's who," Mickey scoffed, taking a sip of his beer. "Any one of us could've beat him down. Guy was all bones."

Ian shook his head at Mickey, but otherwise didn't say anything. Mickey watched as he picked up the pan he was stirring and pour it into a dish of pasta. Ian always told him that he'd never eat box mac n' cheese ever again if he could help it, so he always made it home-made. It was his specialty dish. 

Mickey figured if there was any time that Ian looked best, it was when he was concentrating on something. He always bit his bottom lip and his eyebrows would dip down just a little when his nose scrunched up. He stopped pretending that he didn't think Ian was gorgeous a long time ago, he just didn't voice his opinion very often. 

Some nights, Mickey remembers how things were when Ian was away overseas. He tries not to dwell on it too much, but there are nights when everything feels to perfect, like he can't help but remember the bad times as well. A Milkovich has never had a life where they felt safe or blessed. Who was Mickey to start now?

But then Ian would smile at him and Mickey couldn't help being selfish. Ian took him from his thoughts when he spoke, "So Gary called today." Ian's voice was soft and hesitant. His back towards Mickey while he put the dish in the oven. 

"Yeah well, what did he want," Mickey asked, trying not to let his voice waver. Gary was a guy that Ian was deployed with. Sometimes Ian would get together with people he met during the army, but never Gary, he was bad news.

Ian didn't look at him while he set the timer to let him know when the food was done. Mickey's leg start to shake when Ian leaned against the counter, still not looking at him. "Tim died in combat, he just got the news. Thought I'd like to know," Ian finally said, his voice catching at the last sentence. 

Tim was the guy who took to helping Ian out when he was first deployed. He had really helped him out and Mickey knew how much Ian cared for the guy. "Ian," Mickey started to say but Ian just shook his head at him. 

The kitchen was silent between him, both of their minds running through different thoughts. Mickey felt his chest tighten, mostly at the thought that if Ian hadn't been injured, would that have been him? Ian was the one good thing in Mickey's life and every day that he was away was torture for him. He never knew if he'd ever get to have him back, after so long of denying that he cared about Ian. 

Mickey could remember the feelings of saying goodbye to Ian, of waiting for him every day he was away, and seeing him again, finally after being away for so long. He had never had to know what it felt like to get a letter saying he was never coming back. He didn't even try to imagine what that felt like. 

"Ian, I'm sorry," Mickey said, quietly. They weren't the couple who showed a lot of affection, but he knew when to break the barriers, when Ian would need him the most. Ian just nodded though, still not making eye contact. His chin wobbled but no tears slipped out. Mickey wondered if he had cried when he found out.

Mickey was surprised when Ian spoke, "Mick, if I wasn't injured. That would've been me, I would've been with him." Mickey felt his hands twitch at the thought. He didn't even realize he had gotten out of his seat, until he was standing right in front of Ian.

"Don't fucking say that, okay? Don't do that, just don't," Mickey scolded him. Ian looked up with a look so haunted, so guilty that Mickey wanted to smack it off. Tell him to suck it up, to stop talking like that. "Don't you get it? You weren't there, you're here. Stop talking like you've done something wrong. Christ, Gallagher. Do you want that, do you want to be the one in the coffin? Just stop fucking talking like that!"

He couldn't help but sound so desperate. Mickey hated the thought of burying Ian, the military band, having a reunion with the Gallagher family if only for that. Ian was home and nothing made Mickey happier than that. It didn't matter how much he pretended otherwise. "Just don't talk like that, please." His voice was quiet, pleading while he looked at Ian. 

Ian put his hand on Mickey's waist, slowly like he was expecting him to strike. His thumb rested gently on his hipbone and Mickey started to shake. He told himself he wasn't going to cry, he wasn't some girl. But when Ian pulled him closer, he hand no problem wrapping his arms across Ian's back.

"Mick, I'm okay. I'm not going anywhere. Okay? I'm right here," Ian murmured, his mouth pressing quickly to his temple. Mickey felt himself nod in the crook of Ian's neck, his fingers digging into his shoulders.

They stayed like that together until the timer for the oven went off, shocking them both apart. Mickey looked away, though he felt Ian's eyes burning into him. "We should eat," Mickey said, turning his back and grabbing some dishes from the cabinets. He heard Ian mutter his response before turning to shut the timer off and grab dinner. 

The two of them sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence while they ate, their minds reeling from Mickey's outburst. Ian continued to watch him closely while they ate and Mickey kept from looking up at him. 

When they had finished, Ian took the plates to the kitchen and turned the sink on to wash them. Mickey stood, knowing that it was his turn for dishes and walked in to find Ian waiting for him. "What," Mickey spat, without real venom in his voice, his eyes darting from Ian to everywhere else. 

"You know that's not what I want right," Ian said, his voice filled with concern that Mickey hated. He shouldered past Ian to start cleaning the dishes, without answering his question. "Mickey just, you have to know. I know I complain about being injured, about coming home from that and not being able to do what I used to, but you have to know. I never wanted to come home in a coffin. I like my life now, here, with you. I wouldn't go back now if I could."

Mickey nodded at him, but didn't say anything, his throat was blocked and he figured he was being stupid. There wasn't a way that Ian could go back, so why was he getting emotional over it? He was a Milkovich and if there was one thing he kept true, it was he didn't get emotional over stupid shit. 

It wasn't until they fell into the bed that Mickey was able to say anything at all. Maybe it was the dark of their room, making it feel more intimate, like no one could ever find out that made him able to talk. 

Ian's back was towards him, which wasn't unusual since he usually started that way. So Mickey turned toward him and curled into him, so Ian was the little spoon. "I know that's not what you want. You just don't know what it felt like, not knowing if you'd ever come home. It sucked. You're it for me, Gallagher, you knew it before I did. That's not gonna change now," Mickey told him, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The room stayed quiet for a few moments before Ian threaded his fingers through Mickey's hand on his stomach, "I love you." It was simple, like it never was before they moved to New York. And that made it all the better. Mickey buried his face in between Ian's shoulder blades and took a deep breath, "Yeah, I love you too." 

Maybe things weren't always easy between them; they still fought, complained and hardly ever showed the affection most couples do, but it worked for them and they always knew when the other needed to hear those affections. Mickey figured it was better hearing them once in a while, than all the time. It made them more true.


End file.
